Pop
by BlissfullySortOfAnonymous
Summary: Bubbles are fragile--just like life.
1. Pop

I've always liked bubbles. I like the way they catch the light and send off rainbows. I wanted to make a dress of bubbles once.

It didn't work.

Fiyero hates bubbles. He says he's lived his whole life in one.

I've no idea what he means.

But…that gets me thinking. How would one live in a bubble, exactly, and what would it be like? It seems to me like everything would look different. Like how when you look at a bubble, things on the other side are blurry. It makes them prettier—just color, without the ugly details.

From the inside of a bubble, does the world look that way too? I'll have to ask Fiyero. But I think I'd like to live in one; some things in life would be better if they were less clear.

Like the way Fiyero looks at me. If that were less clear, maybe I would be able to mistake the blankness in his eyes for affection. Maybe it would even look like love.

Life is like a bubble, I think. The way people see you, and the way you see them, is never quite right. There's always something in between you, messing up the view. And so you chase after something that looks like what you want, and just when you get there the bubble pops, and you find out that it's not what you wanted after all. Or that _he's_ not who you thought he was.

Or that _you_ aren't who he thought you were—who he wishes you were.

So maybe I was living in a bubble too. And maybe I don't want to find a new one. Maybe I want the old one back.

But you know, the thing about bubbles is that they only float when no one bothers them. It doesn't matter how badly you want to keep one. You can't touch it. It'll pop.

Is that how life works? You go along, assuming everything is fine, but if you ever stop to think about it—pop.

I think I'd like to live in a rainbow instead.


	2. Is it Bad?

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. It ain't mine.**

**When I wrote the first chapter, I had no intention of writing more, but I think I'll continue this one for a while. This is kind of...hmm, this whole story is going to be kind of personal for me. It's written from Glinda's perspective, but it's based on my own thoughts on my life at the moment. It's just a little bit more interesting in Wicked context:)**

**Thank you to everybody who reviewed last time! I wasn't sure my little musings would be of interest to anybody, but I'm glad you guys like it so far.**

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Is it bad to fall in love with someone's attention rather than him? If so, I think I'm guilty.

I mean, it's awfully nice being me. I've always had some boy or another—or several—chasing after me, and d'you know, I don't think there's ever been a one I didn't like. I was thinking about that today. It seems kind of strange, doesn't it, to like every boy you ever meet?

And that's what I just realized—it wasn't the boys that I liked; it was the attention. Any boy who paid attention to me was just fine in my book. So I flirted with anybody and everybody who'd flirt back, and I felt the buzzy, electric feeling that flattery brings and called it attraction.

And then I met Fiyero, and he was so beautiful and so princely that _his_ attention was more flattering than all those other silly boys' put together. And so this time, I didn't just like him. This time, I thought I was in love.

But…what is love, really? Is it being interested enough in a person to find out everything about him? I surely don't know much about Fiyero. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever talked to him about himself.

Is love loving the warm feeling you get when he holds you? Being held by just about anybody feels warm and nice to me. So maybe love is loving the things he does for you—and I do! I love how he calls me "princess", I love to hear him tell me I'm beautiful, I love his big bear hugs, and I love how he spoils me constantly.

But then…I love it when anybody does those things for me. I mean, doesn't every girl love to be told that she's beautiful?

So…I guess what I'm wondering is this: Shouldn't I just love _him_?


	3. Learning to Dance in the Rain

**Disclaimer: I do not own either Wicked or the quote halfway through.**

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It's raining today.

I hate rain. I always have, ever since I was a little girl on the way to my first ball, and my curls and pretty dress were drenched before anyone got to see them.

I loved that little dress. It was made of pink silk, stitched in gold, and had a rose satin bow in the back and a multi-tiered skirt with gold lace peeking through. It made me feel like a princess.

Rain spoiled my sixteenth birthday, too. I had a date that night. Coming home we got so soaked that my hair went limp, and my makeup ran, and what's-his-face couldn't help but laugh at me. I looked like a drowned rat, not a princess. I wonder what he'd think of me now.

I'm older and smarter, I guess, smart enough to stay out of the rain--and yet, still every bit as naive.

Momsie used to keep a plaque on her wall that said, "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass. It's about learning to dance in the rain." When the weather was bad, I'd usually wake up to find it hanging from my doorknob, nagging me. I'd march the thing back to Momsie's room and tell her that I was never going out in the rain again. Never. What she was really trying to tell me didn't sink in--till now.

There will always be rain, I suppose, and it will always show me at my worst. I can't make it stop, just like I can't hold a bubble, and can't make time stand still.

But maybe there are ways to work around it. If I'm not wearing makeup, it won't run. If I don't date what's-his-face, it won't matter if he laughs. And if I'm really a princess in my pretty silk dress, the water won't change that one bit.

So I take off my shoes, and I wash my face clean, and I go out to dance in the rain.


	4. His Smile

The drops fall all around me, tinkling into tiny ponds and flowing in mini rivers on the stone floor of the courtyard. My feet begin to carry me in circles, faster and faster until the sky becomes a blur. Laughter bubbles up inside my mouth, and I open up to let it out, catching raindrops on my tongue. I turn my face into the downpour.

It's like being reborn, like the old me has washed away and trickled through cracks in the stone under my feet. I wish I could feel this way forever.

I have better balance in bare feet than in heels, but eventually I fall. I raise my head and there, five feet in front of me, stands Fiyero. We just look for a moment, and I see something different in his face than I'm used to—something softer.

"Glinda," he says. "What are you doing?"

I'm embarrassed that he found me this way, and I lower my eyes to my wet, muddy knees. I brush away the water that drips through my lashes. But then he comes to kneel in front of me, and that same softness radiates from his body to mine. I look into his face, and a smile so small that it's hardly there at all passes between us.

"I'm dancing in the rain."

His smile grows, and then mine, and then he laughs, and I laugh with him. He stands and takes me with him, and our feet begin to carry us in circles, faster until everything's a blur—everything but his smile.


	5. Lucky

**Disclaimer: Yeah yeah yeah....you know the drill.**

**Thanks as usual for the alerts, favorites, etc. They make me very happy:) **

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Blonde is the color of gold. It's the color of sunshine, the color of daffodils, the color of happy. It's special. Lucky.

Blue is the color of the sky and the ocean. It's deep and wide and endless, and when the sun hits it just right, it sparkles like a million tiny diamonds.

Pink is the color of rosebuds, with petals soft as satin and duckling feathers.

That's what I see when I look in the mirror—gold and baby roses and the ocean. Today I add a dress of sun-kissed yellow cotton, because that's how I feel—sunny and golden and radiant.

Of course, that's only to be expected. I'm Glinda Upland, of the Upper Uplands, and I was born to be those things. What nobody knows is that sometimes I look into the mirror and _don't _like what I see. Sometimes the face looking back at me seems like the last face on earth that anybody could care about. Sometimes I wonder if anybody does.

That's why today is so special. This morning, for the first time in longer than I can remember, I woke up to a kiss from Fiyero.

"Princess," he said. "We need to go for a walk today. I've missed you."

I don't know how long we walked through the palace gardens; for once time didn't seem to matter. He picked me roses and said he was sorry—not for anything in particular, just sorry. He said he wanted things between us to change.

He said he loves me still.

And I feel beautiful again. The wedding ring on my finger sparkles, like it senses somehow that today it means what it used to.

I smile into the mirror and twirl a strand of golden hair around my finger. What did I tell you? Lucky.


End file.
